


these our bodies possessed

by thesunwillshineclear



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Clones, Drabble, Gen, Loss of Control, Mirrors, general saddness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:31:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesunwillshineclear/pseuds/thesunwillshineclear
Summary: Tup experiences the most horrible of nightmares. Fists clenched as he looks at the mirror and sees a tired and worn reflection. He dreads the day he is going to one day lost control of his mind and body.





	these our bodies possessed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the celebrate-the-clone-wars writing wednesday prompt "mirror mirror." Title from a Richard Silken poem.

Stumbling towards the fresher, Tup caught himself on the edge of the sink as the door swished closed behind him. His hair had come undone and brushed lightly against his cheeks, obscuring his vision of his hands, clenched tight enough around the sink that his knuckles were stark white. The bones pushed sharply up from underneath up against his skin.

He felt as if it didn’t fit properly, skin too tight in places, his hands no longer his own, he sees them in front of him, blaster in hand as he sho-

No, he  _saw_  that, past tense, Tup viciously reminded himself. In the nightmare. It was _just_ a nightmare, that was _all_.

He glared down at his traitorous hands that weren’t his own, not really, but they were they were  _they were_.

He did it.

Pulling his eyes from his still clenched hands, he was met with his reflection in the fresher mirror. He looked- terrible, really. Deep bags hung under his eyes, which themselves were aged years beyond his own life-expectancy. His forehead was shiny from the sweat that was often paired with the dreams, and he shivered slightly from it cooling on his skin.

The nightmares were getting worse every night, despite the repeated subject matter. Or was it because of it? But somehow, he  _knew_  what was going to happen. Every single time.

Tup desperately wanted to feel like he had control again. That these nightmares would just go away. Let him live in relative peace ( _war_ , his mind whispered) and not go and murd- hurt someone by accident ( _isn’t that your job?_ ). It was always someone important. Someone  _on their side_ ( _were they on your side?_  the traitorous side of his brain reared its ugly head again). Better to push those thoughts far, far away, back into the dark.

His eyes skittered anxiously across his reflection, seeking some kind of solution in the tired image before him, for the control he lacked. With hands still clasped tightly around the sink, he let his gaze fall from the mirror in front of him downwards.

His finger twitched.


End file.
